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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27308998">Our eyes light up, we have no shame at all</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/macabrekawaii/pseuds/macabrekawaii'>macabrekawaii</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>ric rolled [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol, Amnesia, Bad Decisions, Dick Grayson is Ric Grayson, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Past Dick/Roy, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Ric Grayson is a raccoon man, Ric Grayson lives in my heart forever, Ric does not remember being Dick, Roy Harper is a fucking disaster, Roy makes some poor life choices, spit for lube</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 20:15:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,078</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27308998</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/macabrekawaii/pseuds/macabrekawaii</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Blundering into a familiar face in a seedy bar, Roy's knee deep in some shitty life choices, so what's one more? </p><p>or</p><p>Roy and Ric bang in a dive bar bathroom. What it says on the tin.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dick Grayson/Roy Harper</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>ric rolled [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2101872</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>75</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Our eyes light up, we have no shame at all</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This isn’t anything I intended to write and my many WIPs languish but this crawled into my brain and wouldn’t leave like a raccoon that hides in yr attic slowly eating it’s way through the fluffy bits of yr insulation. So uh. Enjoy!?</p><p>Also as ever, I cram a little bit of pre-52 Roy into that glamorous (lmao) post-52 shell. Ric is a beautiful mess. When does this take place? You decide, dear reader. All that matters is Dick is Ric and Roy is very much alive to make bad life choices. Please don't read too much into it, this is just a romp.</p><p>Title is from "Lampshades on Fire" by Modest Mouse</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><br/>
 Alright, fine. This is a bad idea, a terrible idea. So he fell off the wagon again. The wagon has pulled out of the station some time ago and good decisions have left the building. The metaphors are mixed and so are the drinks, and Roy leans back in his barstool with an easy charm that belies his discomfort drinking on vaguely familiar turf. But the winds of fate have brought him to Blüdhaven, and this bar has a pretty sweet late-night special going on with their shots. In fact, Roy’s got a row of them laid out in front of him—three for him, and one for the pretty, purple-haired bartender who he’s still not sure if she’s flirting with him or just trying to keep a close eye. Either way, he’s drinking for peanuts, which is good, because it was a botched job that brought him here in the first place.<br/>
<br/>
There’s a man playing pool in the back- built, but slim hipped, his hair neatly buzzed, wearing a leather jacket over a grey hoodie. Roy keeps seeing him out of the corner of his eye, not wanting to turn his attention away from the vaguely-free drinks. Something about him has him glancing repeatedly, drinking in his form as eagerly as he does the booze. After a while, Roy hears the clack of billiards die down, and a group of grumbling men make their way towards the exit of the bar, leaving the man alone at the table.<br/>
<br/>
Sliding off the barstool with liquid ease, Roy saunters over to the man at the pool table. His back is to Roy and oh what a backside it is. Roy lets himself drag his eyes down from his broad shoulders to his narrow hips, the plump curve of his ass that can only be described as <em>hugged</em> by the tight denim.<br/>
<br/>
“Wanna go a round?” Roy smirks and pushes an unruly strand of copper hair behind his ear, the rest is caught up in a low ponytail. His voice feels velvety in his mouth, his breath sweet with alcohol. He’s aiming for charming rogue. Roy never misses.<br/>
<br/>
The stranger turns to face Roy, his crystal-blue eyes catching him off-guard. He breaks into a smile and Roy can feel his heart leap up into his throat, try to crawl its way up his esophagus so he could throw it up or choke on it.<br/>
<br/>
Oh shit. Oh fuck. Oh goddamn shit fuck. Suddenly everything about being here feeling like a mistake is screaming at him, singing in his veins like a whole chorus of<em> you should goddamn leave right now you fucking idiot no what are you doing you’re still staring</em>.<br/>
<br/>
Through the haze of at least a dozen shots of watered-down whisky, Roy suddenly remembers a voicemail left for him by Jason. A garbled, vague message—something about Dick being shot, about his being okay but having amnesia, about his wanting to be left alone entirely. Roy had been in no position to think about such things at the time and hadn’t given it much of a thought. Figured it was the kind of thing that tended to work itself out in vigilante circles. Who hasn’t been missing or dead or forgotten who they are at some point? Whatever, right?</p><p>Dick looks up at Roy with a smile that can only be described as predatory and for it, Roy swallows down what may or may not have in fact been his heart. Whooboy. Up close, Roy can see Dick’s not even wearing a shirt underneath the hoodie—the zipper is pulled down low, revealing a thick, dark thatch of chest hair that Roy can’t remember <em>ever</em> seeing on the meticulously-groomed crimefighter. He’s got a scabbed over split lip and the ghost of a black eye, the yellow tinge of it sitting comfortably across his browbone.<br/>
<br/>
“You lookin’ or playin’?” Dick asks, his accent veering far more into a Gotham drawl than Roy’s ever heard.<br/>
<br/>
“I’m uh…. I’m Roy.”  Smooth. So smooth. Nonetheless, Dick eyes him from toe to tip with a hungry look.<br/>
<br/>
“And I’m Ric, but I hadn’t asked that-- so, you playin’?”  <br/>
<br/>
“I’m looking to play.” Roy’s tongue darts out to wet his lips. Ric’s eyes flicker to his mouth, the motion unmissed.<br/>
<br/>
“Well I hope you can keep up with me sweetheart.” Ric’s look is all arrogance—smug and cocksure. He puts a calloused hand on Roy’s hip, reaches up to thumb at the small bare stripe of skin at the top of his jeans.<br/>
<br/>
Roy doesn’t know if he wants to kiss him or punch him.<br/>
<br/>
*<br/>
<br/>
Ric looks up at Roy through his clumped-together lashes, just a little wet from the effort of absolutely choking on Roy’s cock. He’s palming himself through his jeans, knees spread wide against the damp linoleum of the bathroom floor, next to his hoodie and jacket, his buzzed head practically resting against the edge of the toilet. God it’s filthy in here. Ric is filthy. The word <em>sinful</em> plays in the back of Roy’s mind and he drowns it out by shoving back into Ric’s mouth hard enough to tear the scab on his bottom lip, hard enough to leave a pink trail of bloody saliva down his dick when the other man withdraws with a loud, wet pop. It hadn’t been long before Roy was following Ric into the men’s room, Ric’s hands scrabbling at Roy’s belt before they’d even locked the stall behind them. Did they even lock the stall? Roy can’t remember, can’t think of anything but the way Ric’s mouth feels and how <em>easily</em> he’s sliding right to the back of his throat, like it’s no hardship.</p><p><br/>
“Bet you never felt anything as good as this babe.” Ric pulls back, preens and laves his tongue up Roy’s shaft, sucks on the head before drawing back, painting his still-bleeding split lip with precome. Roy watches his dick disappear between those plush lips again.</p><p><br/>
“Maybe once or twice.” Roy throws a wry smile at Ric, remembering those icy blue eyes in a younger, more well-kempt face. He reaches down and caresses the rough stubble of Ric’s chin in a motion that is altogether too fond. Ric pulls back again, licks a stripe across Roy’s palm, reminds him who he’s dealing with.<br/>
<br/>
“I wanna fuck you.” It’s not a request. Roy’s voice rumbles with a fucked-out baritone, as if he’s the one who just had a cock down his throat. He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t be doing any of this but…. why the hell not, right? He’s in this deep. May as well go deeper still. And technically he’s already been there, even if that was a long time ago.<br/>
<br/>
Ric doesn’t answer, just licks one last wet stripe up Roy’s length and stands, working his jeans down as he rises. He turns and braces himself on the edge of the toilet seat, tilts his head back with a lurid smile.<br/>
<br/>
“Got any slick, Slick?” Ric chuckles to himself and reaches back to hold himself open with his hands.</p><p>It’s pure porn, and Roy feels precome pulse over his fingers as he strokes himself. He spits loudly in his hand. It’ll have to do. Ric’s gotten him good and <em>wet</em> as it is. He strokes himself a few times before pressing the blunt head of his dick against Ric’s entrance. He leans down and spits again, at the juncture of where their bodies meet, lets the thick glob of saliva drip down onto warm flesh. Roy presses in, slides home.<br/>
<br/>
Roy’s nails dig into the meat of Ric’s ass and man, is it heaven. The firm muscle gives a bit underneath Roy’s grasp and he pushes himself deeper into Ric’s body. Ric hisses something unintelligible and pushes back, spreading his legs just a bit wider. Roy reaches an arm underneath Ric’s abs and pulls the other man harder against him, their bodies slapping loudly with every thrust. He’s not gonna last long, not with <strike>Dick</strike> Ric bucking back into every thrust, not with how goddamn <em>close</em> he already was between those sneering lips.<br/>
<br/>
“Ah fuck, give it to me.” Ric is loud, way too loud, there’s no goddamn way the patrons in the bar can’t hear this. He’s all but howling like a cat in heat, even his panting seems to bounce and echo in the tiled bathroom. Roy lets go with one hand, gives Ric a hard slap against the meat of his thigh. Ric <em>whines</em>. Roy reaches up with one hand, holding Ric by the back of the neck as he pounds him, fucking into him at a brutal pace. He angles himself a bit higher and – oh there it is—Ric starts making soft noises, an absolute contrast to his earlier bravado. Ric’s hands are white-knuckled, holding onto the toilet seat for dear life.<br/>
<br/>
Something inside Roy unfurls. It’s all so familiar yet surreal. <em>This</em> <em>isn’t him</em> he reminds himself. But his dick doesn’t goddamn know that, and the kittenish mewls he’s punching out of Ric from the inside are short-circuiting his brain in a deliciously familiar way. Roy pistons his hips and Ric arches his back profanely, is all but standing en pointe.  Ric lets out something between a groan and a sob and that’s it, that’s fucking it, Roy is losing himself to the rhythm of his body slapping up against Ric’s and he comes with a gasp, emptying himself in a hot rush inside the other man. Ric moans, loud and lewd, reaches for his own erection, and before Roy is even finished feeling himself pulse inside him, Ric’s body flutters arounds him, milking his orgasm for every last drop. Roy drops uselessly against Ric’s back, barely able to hold himself upright. Without thinking, he plants a single kiss to Ric’s sweat-soaked skin.<br/>
<br/>
“Holy fuck.” Ric’s voice is shaky, quiet even. Roy bites down the urge to reach up and rake his nails through the short bristle of his buzzcut.<br/>
<br/>
“Holy shit.” Roy pulls out, grabs some toilet paper to clean himself off. He hands Ric a crumped wad of it.<br/>
<br/>
“Thanks, you’re a real gentleman.” Ric turns and sits on the toilet seat, cleans himself up. He looks up at Roy with his pants still around his ankles. “That was…. Really somethin’. You from around here?” Ric seems eager, interested.<br/>
<br/>
“Yeah I had fun.” Roy says as curt as he can manage, offering nothing else. He tucks himself back into his jeans. He has so much he wants to say. But none of it is to the man he just filled with his come. Roy feels hot, feels dizzy, like all the shitty alcohol he was knocking back hit all at once.  In an illustrious career of mistakes this was a goddamn <em>mistake.</em> “I’ll uh… I’ll be off.”<br/>
<br/>
Roy tries not to think about the flash of hurt that lights up Ric’s eyes. To his credit, Ric is standing in an instant, buckling up his pants with a stony face and with a haste and speed Roy recognizes from many of his own disasters. He grabs his hoodie and jacket, not even bothering to put them back on, just slings them over his shoulder.<br/>
<br/>
“Yeah, be seeing ya.” Ric pushes past Roy, lets his shoulder knock into his as he exits the stall, leaves him alone in the bathroom.<br/>
<br/>
Roy moves to the sinks, washes his hands, washes his face, uses his wet hands to slick back his sweaty hair. Fuck <em>fuck.</em> That was so stupid. Dick would be lecturing him something fierce. <em>Dick’s not here</em> he reminds himself. <em>Dick may never come back</em> says a meaner voice.<br/>
<br/>
Roy takes a moment to center himself then walks out of the bathroom. He sees Ric at the bar, talking to the bartender. She cants her head at Roy, shoots him a look that’s all daggers. Roy knows when he’s not welcome—his tab’s already paid up, and unless he wants to pay the piper as well, it’s time to hit the road.  He makes his way to the exit.<br/>
<br/>
“Hey Red!” Ric shouts at Roy’s back, just as he pushes the heavy bar door open.<br/>
<br/>
“Yeah?” Roy tilts his head, letting himself take one last look at this rakish manifestation of Dick Grayson.<br/>
<br/>
“Go fuck yourself!” Ric raises a glass to him in either a curse or a toast. <br/>
<br/>
“Fair enough, buddy.” Roy heads out into the cold Blüdhaven night.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I, too, would risk it all to fuck that pretty mouth in a dive bar bathroom.</p><p>lol happy bday Roy (Nov 1st), enjoy yr bathroom quickie</p></blockquote></div></div>
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